Alone
by Sweet Avidya Jones
Summary: Aang visits the Southern Air Temple


It was quiet in the Southern Air Temple.

The sun was just beginning to set over the mountains. The others took Appa and went to the nearby moon peach orchard before lunch, leaving him by himself for an afternoon of solitary meditation practice. With so many other obligations, he had not been granted the luxury of so much dedicated time to practice in months. It was a welcome change of pace to know the only interruption would be his own thoughts. He wasn't even disturbed by Momo, who would never have missed out on the opportunity to stuff himself with fruit.

Eventually, around the time they should be returning, he left the shrine room and made his way through the temple. There was a resonance to the stillness, like the sound of a gong that had not yet faded completely. It was a heavy sort of silence, so he went outside, to the airball field. At least there was the sound of the wind.

Some of the poles were laying on the ground and he wondered if an especially strong storm had come through since their last visit, maybe some animals. He squatted to lift one of them up. The stone was already cool under the shadows of the sunset when he slid his hands beneath the wood. He raised it to examine the end, where it had snapped off at the base. The pole was light in his hands and he dragged a calloused thumb along the edge.

The wood was dry and rotted and crumbled in his fingers. Aang stared at the fragments stuck to his skin, uncomprehending. The light at his back was bright and orange.

He dreaded moments like this, since they were always so unexpected. The chasm of time between himself and his people seemed to yawn open before him. Sometimes it felt like a wave had receded, and then the years came rushing back all at once, filling the cavity of his chest. He held his breath and let the pole slide back to the ground through his fingers. As he stood, he emptied his lungs slowly, through his nose.

He left the poles where he found them, since he wasn't sure what else to do with them.

All of them gathered in the common area for dinner and he was quiet, which wasn't unusual for him in the evenings. He caught Katara watching him as he picked at his food. She offered a questioning smile and his answer was weak and halfhearted. He knew it exposed that he was troubled about something and wished he could hide it. Burdening her was the last thing he wanted to do. They had a good afternoon and returned to the temple bright and chatty. Sometimes they felt like a flock of songbirds in a graveyard when they came here. The darkness of his own thoughts unnerved him. He had been finding it remarkably easy to wallow here lately, and he didn't like it.

Slowly, they all trickled out of the common area to go to bed. He and Katara walked hand in hand, silent, down a hall, up a staircase.

"You've been quiet since we got back," she said as he lit the lamps in their room. She shut the door behind them.

"Sorry," he murmured. He should have forced a smile, drawn out more stories about her afternoon. Standing in the privacy of their room, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He ran his hand across his head, turning to watch her unbuckling her water skin. Her understanding smile when she glanced up at him almost made him feel worse.

"It's all right. I wasn't looking for an apology." She returned her attention to the leather straps she was working at. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Talking to Katara would have made him feel better. She was the only person he ever fully opened up to, and not only because he loved her. There was a particular quality to the way she listened, not just waiting for her turn to speak. Her healer's instincts told her when people were in pain and urged her to help them. He watched Katara make herself vulnerable to do it, over and over again. She was strong enough to break free of the undertow of his grief, to drag him out of it. He could unburden himself. It would be a relief.

His focus returned to the moment, carried on the awareness that Katara was moving past him, toward her side of the bed. She set her waterskin on the table. The light flickered and was haloed when his vision blurred.

"I'd rather not," he said, his voice weighed down by the stinging press of tears in his throat. He swallowed and tried to blink them away. They gathered in his lashes and he shut his eyes. She came close to him again, the subtle vibration of her movements shivering through him. Her arms went around him and her embrace was like a hand silencing a bell. He breathed out a resigned sigh.

"Okay," she replied.

She tucked her head under his chin and he resisted the urge to bury his nose in her hair. His heartbeat thumped in his chest, against hers. It was a steady drum into her palms, pressed on his back. Katara shielded the fragile bloom of loneliness inside him. He didn't have to explain to her why he let it remain, let it shrivel and curl into itself and fall away on its own, slowly. He had to hold it and appreciate every part of it, even the pale, tender roots holding onto some part of him he preferred not to dwell on. The heavy silence had settled within him and air moved through it. Katara held him as he wept.

There was no one else to mourn them. Someone should.


End file.
